


Isolation

by calebaren



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Drunken Confessions, M/M, This Is STUPID, Tony Feels, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calebaren/pseuds/calebaren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's not feeling so well. Always drunk. Well, he was usually drunk anyways. But never one to pass up a snarky comment, and that's what worries Steve most of all. Steve/Tony, rating probably will change, pointless fluff in the middle if you don't mind. Plus HAWKWARD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. World's Greatest Hangover

Tony nursed a glass of cheap whiskey in his left hand and the bottle in his right. He looked into the bottle; there wasn't much left, but he didn't feel like finishing it. He downed it anyway. Booze and women took the edge off the wounds that refused to heal. Howard. Ten Rings. Steve's scathing comments. Though his nuke stunt earned him some form of respect from him, it would carry no lasting value. Steve was just being nice, that poor boy. He knew he was going to die, heading into that ice. He knew what it was like. He knew that that final sacrifice was nothing but just that: a simple sacrifice. Tony set the bottle on the counter, next to the other two. Sat on one of the high bar stools. Looked down at his hands. His vision was blurring. His balance was skewed. He needed to get to bed before he passed out. Tony cringed as he stumbled down the hall. Dammit, his peripheral was gone already. He tripped over nothing and landed hard on his forearm. Something cracked, but he felt nothing. Just self pity.  
"Tony, why are you still-Oh God, call for help! Get Bruce up here," was the last thing that he heard before slipping under entirely.

Bright sunlight shot through the windows. Steve and Clint were in snoring in uncomfortable seats by the door. Tony grudgingly opened his eyes, squinting to block out the light. Soft linen sheets covered him. His linen sheets. In some unused room of the Stark Tower. The events of last night drifted back slowly, bit by bit. He got into another fight with Steve, this time about groceries. He stormed off, slamming the door behind him. Tony slumped at the dining table, mindlessly gnawing on beef jerky. The other Avengers watched him with badly disguised concern. Tony Stark was never silent. Tony Stark was never the one to back off from a fight. And yet he did. Because Steve knew exactly where to drive it home. Right behind his neglected-child gland, a little to the right of his drinking problem, nicking his Afghanistan incident in the process. Not to mention cleanly passing through his ego. Ouch. Let's just say that beef jerky doesn't keep the demons at bay for long.  
Clint detected Tony's awakening and roused himself. He yawned and poked Steve in the process who instantly jerked awake.  
"Good morning sunshine," Steve flatly remarked. How did that much sarcasm get into his system?  
"Close the blinds." Tony's voice was hoarse and unsteady. "What, no snappy remark?" Tony stayed silent, playing keepaway with Steve's eyes. It was hard to just "talk" to Steve. He was amazingly intuitive, but amazingly stubborn with that thick head and those deeply ingrained morals that Tony had grown to resent and envy.  
"Your blood alcohol content was six times the driving limit." Steve rubbed his temples. Clint popped a stick of gum into his mouth and chewed quietly. Tony gestured for some. Clint threw it over. Tony dropped it, tried to pick it up, and gave up. His other arm was in a cast.  
"Did I break it?" Clint shook his head.  
"Sprained your wrist. The cast is just an accessory."  
"They'll be in season next year, I swear."  
"Better get mine before the masses rush in." Clint scoffed and shook his head. The edges of Tony's lips crawled upwards slightly. Steve still had his head in his hand, staring at the floor with his his elbows on his knees. The perfect image of mourning...but for whom? His missed date from 70 years ago? Man, that guy needs to move on. Oh wait, that thought dripped with hypocrisy, didn't it?  
"Hey, go check on Natasha for me." Clint looked confused. "She's not on a mission. She's fine."  
"Then go check on Bruce, or Thor, or, I don't know, that pigeon that took a dump on you last week."  
Clint looked less confused and left.  
Steve didn't look up when he spoke. "Your liver almost gave out. Oh, and your kidneys were basically shot, too. The only reason you aren't experiencing the world's greater hangover now is because I begged them to flush it out of your system. Dialysis, I think." Steve stood up suddenly, the chair sliding back and hitting the wall. "Do you know how much you scared me, how much you scared all of us? When you just passed out like that, and all we could do is watch doctors flush every bit of booze out of your blood? Do you think we enjoy being able to kick every enemy's ass except that little sneaky one in a bottle you keep in your room? Do you think we enjoy that?" Steve didn't shout. He whispered. Tony just stared. When Steve saw that he wasn't responding anytime soon, he kneeled at the billionaire's bedside, desperation in his eyes. "We can't lose you again, Tony. Don't give out on us. What happened? What could have possibly happened? Dammit, Tony, say something!" Tony said nothing, just stared into Steve's bright, icy blue eyes. They wouldn't it, Steve most of all. He would just listen and go back into his protective world of training and punching bags. Tony had nothing. Nothing constructive, nothing good. He wasn't Steve. He shut his eyes and slumped down.  
Steve sighed. Tony heard the door open, then close gently. His breathing slowed as he neared the threshold of sleep. He never noticed the door open yet again, and he never felt the soft lips that brushed his.


	2. Howard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry the update took so long, school caught up to me. Um, there's some AU stuff in here, so please correct me if there's anything fishy! Thanks for the awesome reviews, too. Especially you, "ruru".

Everyone showed up to breakfast the next morning, which was strange, as Clint and Natasha were usually gone by dawn. Tony and Bruce both shuffled into the kitchen at the same time. Tony was dressed rather casually, in a short-sleeved shirt that combined profanity and his ego. Clint and Thor (when did he learn how to cook) made food for everyone; surprisingly, it didn't taste too bad. Clint and Natasha were playing with their phones, and Thor was busy shoveling a huge pile of bacon into his face. No one uttered a word of greeting, but everyone stared at Tony. He had been on the IV all night long, replenishing some of the fluids lost in the binging two nights previous. Natasha shoved two plates of food to Bruce and Tony. Bruce alternated between eating and fiddling with his phone. Tony chased a blueberry around until it fell off the edge of his plate. He chased another. Then another.  
The silence was deafening. No one spoke. No one made eye contact with Tony, but exchanged glances amongst each other ranging from puzzled to furious to defeated. But no one spoke. Tony checked his watch, jammed a slice of bacon into his teeth, mumbled a "thank you", and left. He could feel their eyes dissecting him as he descended the stairs.  
"Are you unwell, sir," JARVIS asked with a touch of concern in his inhuman, uncomforting voice. Tony gave no reply, just cleared his desk of all papers and floating holograms and idly sketched. He heard someone's footsteps; heavy guy, but too soft to be casual; must be Steve.  
"Sir, if you are still—"  
"Strip everyone of their permission to enter the lab."  
"…Sir?"  
"You heard what I said, JARVIS, so don't fuck around with me."  
"Very well sir." The amount of disapproval in his voice was tangible.  
Steve reached the door. Tony's back was to him, and he rapped the door.  
"Tony, we need to talk!" Tony didn't turn. He knocked again, and tried the keypad. 0704. "Tony, let me in!" The screen flashed red. Steve frowned, and tapped the glowing buttons again. 0704. Nothing. Tony didn't turn. Steve took a deep breath and bit his lip in frustration. He pounded on the glass with more force. He didn't want to break it, but he kept pounding. Tony didn't turn. He pounded harder. Tony scratched his ear and mouthed something. The door faded to an opaque grey. "Dammit, Tony, open the door!" For some strange reason, Stark being in a room by himself with no company except power tools and a computer frightened him. Steve desperately kicked the glass, but it wouldn't give. He kicked it twice more before it shattered.  
"It's alright, I hated that door anyway." Tony hadn't changed position, but Steve now noticed that he was holding a tumbler of amber fluid in one hand, and his eyes had clouded over. Steve assessed the situation, justified what he was about to do, strode over to Tony in four quick steps, grabbed the glass from Tony slack grip and hurled it against the wall. Tony whined once, and then just stared blankly into Roger's blue eyes.  
Hazel on blue. Blue on hazel. He smiled to himself while the Captain ranted about something. Look at that mouth go. It's a wonder that he's America's golden boy, not some saucy housewife. Blah, blah, blah.  
"Listen, Cap, I hate to break your tirade," Tony slurred out, "But I have a meeting and I need to go, so if you would just move your righteous ass up out of my way and no one has to get hurt."  
"Oh, you seemed to have forgotten that lovely conversation we had just before demonic Clint had a little fun with us in the middle of the Atlantic. Remember that offer I made? Yeah, it's still up." Tony scoffed. "Try me."  
Steve's eyes had narrowed to slits, burning brighter than ever. Stark's eyes were a bit off focus, but still had the hard light from when they first met. Tony broke the connection, frowning and trying to shove past Steve. He let him pass. Stark's footsteps were uneven and cautious, most likely from the alcohol. Halfway between Steve and the stairs, Tony stopped. He turned and walked back to the Captain, albeit with a wobble in his step and an off-kilter look about him.  
"Who's Margaret?" Steve sneered.  
"Who?"  
"That cute British lady."  
"Oh, that was her name?"  
"You never found out her name? You're almost as bad as I am."  
"Why do you care about her?"  
"Because you obviously can't get over her, and it's bumming me out. Sit." Tony gestured to the desk chair. Steve sat stiffly, wondering if Tony was going to blindside him with something big. Like an engagement ring.  
Tony shuffled around the workshop, muttering to himself while going through all the chests and cabinets before finding an old mug and a coffee flask, which he filled with tap water. He handed the flask to Steve. His arm was trembling slightly, but not enough to be concerned about.  
"Shoot."  
"Sorry?"  
"Talk."  
"Um, where do you want me to start?"  
"I don't know." He tried to pour himself a mug of scotch, but Steve just gripped his arm and glared at him until he set it back down. Tony stared down into the empty mug and frowned. The air grew heavy with an oppressive silence as Steve gathered the courage to tell this his deepest secrets.  
"I guess we met in 19—what year was it? Anyway, November of 19-something, and I had just enlisted for Project Rebirth, but I knew I had no chance. I was scrawny, weak, and had little to boast about except for my sketches. Agent Cart—wait a minute, what are you doing?"  
Tony continued to frown at his cup. Something about it seemed off, but he shook off the feeling and looked at the Captain.  
"Did I do something wrong?"  
"You—you…you're recovering from an alcohol overdose, and you're drinking alcohol!"  
"Oh my God! Call the police!"  
"Are you out of your mind? You're still recovering!"  
"Yeah, I think I got that part, Captain Genius. And why do you care? It's not like I'm the most pitiable creature out there. I have a drinking problem. Shit happens."  
Tony still refused to look up into Steve's eyes. Steve could see the hidden pain, the rugged scars from a lifetime of—what? What happened?  
"Tony, we do care."  
"Like hell you do. You look at me and you see my dad. And who's this 'we'? There is no 'we'. Okay, New York was fun and all, but you can't mooch off my money, my company, my house, my food, forever. You're only here because you're so miserably out of touch with society that you can't even operate a toaster without nuclear scientists egging you on."  
Okay, that one stung.  
"Tony, Howard—" Tony cut him off again.  
"Howard this, Howard that, Howard would've this, Howard could that, why do I have to be like him? I hated him, and he hated me back! Why do you care about anything?" He was shouting now. Steve saw how deep the wounds ran, and how Tony hadn't even bothered to dress them, just let them fester. Let them be. Let them rot. His eyes were darting back and forth in pain, like a frenzied animal, cornered by unseen monsters and vicious memories.  
"I don't know."  
"No. You don't. No one knows. No one knows how Howard would come home at one in the morning, when mother had gone to bed. When everyone was asleep, and I'd be sitting by the door, writing and drawing and building and trying everything to make him proud. And he'd just saunter right on in, sneer at whatever I was doing, and saunter right on off again. Congratulations, you finished school three years early, top of the class. Let me ignore you for three months. Oh, Tony, I have a special surprise for you! A sneer and a vicious comment for your 14th birthday, isn't that just swell? Have some money; I'm too busy and self-absorbed to spend time with you. Fast forward two years. I'm at MIT. Guess who never bothered to send me off to college, who never bothered to send a single damn check when I was working my ass off trying to pay off student loans, who never bothered to write a single letter, who never gave a single, piss-poor little thought about Tony, his 'beloved' son? Great, I'm just going to board an airplane with the only person that ever cared about you, and let's just watch this flight go to hell and leave poor little Tony alone with too much money now." Tony sank back down into his chair, elbows on his knees, hands running through his hair. Steve could here low, choked sobs. "Fast forward another ten years. You have Tony Stark, world's most irresponsible playboy and billionaire, who invites at least two women into his bed every day. Now let's watch him disappear on a trip to Afghanistan and every fucking day for 51 days, shrapnel moving closer and closer to his heart. Let's watch the world's kindest person sacrifice his brilliant mind to keeping you alive. Let's watch your uncle stab you in the back. Let's watch Captain America bitch about him. And his tower, let's not forget that, huh? So Steve, you think you know? Well, now you do. And this is the abridged, clean version. There, rant over, now continue your life without a pathetic guy like me fucking it up."  
Steve had never had to deal with this before. One of the world's bravest men, reduced to tears by his childhood hero. He was wrong to push him. He was wrong to assume. Steve stood up and gently pulled Tony to his feet and hugged him. Tony didn't struggle, he just sank into Steve's arms and heaved great shuddering sobs. It seemed like hours before he finally stopped and pulled away from Steve. Blue on hazel. Hazel on blue.  
"I want lunch."  
"Any place in particular?"  
"JARVIS recommended 'sushi'. I want some."  
"I'll take you out. Ah, screw it, let's all go out. We haven't had a meal together in a long time."  
Tony patted Steve's shoulder on the way out, hand lingering a fractional amount longer than it should have.

**Author's Note:**

> So uh...  
> Taken from my FF.net page (which I will be hosting along with this... fanfiction.net/~calebaren) so yeah.  
> Check it out if you want to, but don't expect much. I'm known for my horribly monotonous scenery with not-so-exciting dialogue in between them.


End file.
